


Few Great Things

by venividivici



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Don't say I didn't warn you, Fluff, I apologize in advance, If here for the smut I will fail you, Just some shitty shit I couldn't get out of my head, M/M, My smut is not strong, Pining, Smut, um yeah, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivici/pseuds/venividivici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love Zayn. Always did. Zayn's everything to me. Always has been. And nothing will ever change that." - Niall Horan<br/>(The theme is my interpretation of the song Distance by Christina Perri. I hope you enjoy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Few Great Things

 “Zayn, I have work tomorrow,” I laughed as he led us to his bedroom.  I was placed on his shoulder, his sharp walk down the hallway having me jump at each step. He patted my bum reassuringly.

“I want this as much as you do, babe.”  

 _Barely_. I groaned to hide my excitement. It was always a good time with Zayn; always. And I loved his presence. Whether he was in the kitchen cooking while I studied on the dining room table. Or he sat on my room floor immersed in the powerful lure of colored utensils and thick sheets of blank white paper. He was needed. I needed him. And as much as I hated it and how pathetic it made me, I could never ever turn down an opportunity to be with him.

 

 

My face was pressed against his back, his cologne emitting through the white t-shirt. The scent was the right amount of masculine. Woody, brusque, and a tint of something else I couldn’t put my finger on; it was just Zayn. It was all consuming. And I wanted him. He stopped in front of his door and I heard it bang against the wall. Thank Odin. “Remind me again what started this?” I asked as he threw me on the bed. His hands grabbed the shirt on the back of his neck. Pulling it up over his head, I marveled at how the fitted material trailed and moved in shape of his flat stomach, raising and lowering against each set of abs. He was too beautiful. 

“You kept teasing me over dinner. I told you to stop. You wouldn’t listen. Now shut up.” The perfection of his lips then slammed against my dry ones. It didn’t take long until they were smooth from his constant licking and biting and kissing. Like everything else he was good at, he was a good kisser. Unbelievably good. In a matter of minutes, his lips can have me, or anyone, panting and excited to the point of climax.

As he laid me down on the bed, his warm tongue ceased the groan from me with one swipe across my bottom lip till it disappeared into his mouth. His teeth nibbled on the skin as his hips bucked into mine. “You’re such a tease,” I whimpered, smoothing my hands against his clothed thighs.

“Look who’s talking.” His hands went under my shirt. There was nothing impressive with my torso. I wasn’t fat, but neither did I have muscle that’ll awe someone in amazement. But with the way Zayn’s hands roamed every surface with so much care and need, you’ll feel like a sculpture, like a pristine jewel you'd want no one else to know about. This was how Zayn made me feel. This was why I loved him.

"So beautiful,” ( _ha!_ ) he breathed against my neck, yet again teasing and nibbling. My dick was full-on hard in the limited space of my trousers. It was getting painful. But I knew what Zayn wanted me to do. I know everything about Zayn. He wanted me to beg. He wanted me to be right on the edge of desperation before plunging so much pleasure in me that it was hard to keep track of what day of the week it was. And I wasn’t there yet. Once morning comes, he’ll go to his job with Liam; I’ll go across the street to work with Louis. And we’ll just be friends again, like how it’s always been. I wanted this to last as long as possible. I didn’t want to rush anything. So I prolonged his teasing though it didn't help me at all.

With Zayn, I can’t help but cherish every single moment I spend with him. It’s like each memory I have is locked away in a special chest in my head, only for me to know. I’m sure he forgot most of them, but that’s okay. He’s Zayn. He has more to worry about. I know what his priorities are; I’m not one of them. And the fact that I’m one of his best mates, that I’ve lived with him for the past two years, besides being roommates in college, is enough. 

By this point, he was practically fucking me through our jeans. Our dicks rubbed against each other so fervently I couldn’t do anything but throw my head against the sheets. My shirt was off (how? I do not know) and his puckered mouth was around my nipple, sucking to the beat of his thrusts. I tried. I really tried to hold on. I bit down on my lip as slurs of pleas attempted to escape. My fingers sunk into the tight skin of his waist as he whispered against my other nipple, his hot breath contrasting against my shivers: “Just say it and I’m yours.” 

"Fuck me,” I nearly shrieked. “Fuckmefuckmefuckme.” I don’t know how fast he was, or if he was even fast at all, but in what felt like seconds, I felt my pants and underwear get ripped off, including his, and heard him uncapping the bottle of lube. I opened my legs and brought my knees to my chest, holding them in place. Zayn can be a masochist at times. These were one of them. 

Smothering lube across my entrance and encasing an abundance amount across his fingers, he smoothed them across the crevice of my arse before easing his middle finger in me. Fuck, I never liked the beginning of this part. And he was  _still_ getting what he wanted!

"Zayn, what the fuck?" I groaned, trying to sound annoyed though I couldn't control my rapid breaths. He just tucked his head more into my neck and kissed the skin there, soon sliding the tip of his tongue there in an erratic pattern. God that felt so fucking good.

"What?" he chuckled, passing three fingers across my walls and prodding that spot over and over again. My knee jumped where it was placed on my chest and a moan scratched its way out.

"Fuck you," I whined, laying limp as he continued.

"Well, if you insist, sheesh," he breathed. This bastard had the--

Gripping his dripping glorious length, he rammed into me, holding my hips to be more sheathed. A high scream ripped through the silence as a tear escaped my eye. The sting was excruciating, but the immense delightful feeling of Zayn inside me was so worth it. His fingernails sunk deep into my skin. I knew it was going to leave a mark. Good. I wanted to be marked everywhere by him. I wanted to feel like I belonged to him, that he wanted everyone to know that, but I was way off. 

“Fuck, Niall,” he groaned before slamming into me again, knocking my airways and earning a moan to be the only sound I was able to make. He was so good at this. Too good. Even if I wasn’t in love with him, I’d be around for the fucking. It was an offer you couldn’t deny. He leaned down until he was hovering over me, pressing my knees more against me and giving him more access to enter me. It was surreal.

“Zayn, move,” I begged. Gripping the sheets next to my head, he exited about halfway before submerging as much to his ability. He repeated this a couple times before straightening his back and quickening his paces. A gasp escaped his mouth with each thrust as his brow scrunched in pleasure. I couldn’t take it. I bit my lower lip and moved my lower half, meeting his thrusts with banging my hips down. “Is that all you got?” I provoked. That set it.

Something close to a growl escaped his throat as he rammed into me that I swore I was ripped. But he didn’t stop. Continuing relentlessly, his thrusts were so quick it seemed like a blur. I couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything that wasn’t Zayn. Everything was Zayn. Just like how it’s always been.

He gripped where my legs met the rest of my body and put his whole weight on my knees that were still plastered on my chest, keeping me prisoned. With his upper half resting on me, he was able to move at an even quicker pace which I thought was impossible. “Oh, God. Yesyesyesyes. _Yes_ ,” I nearly cried, close to tears yet again from the overwhelming feeling of Zayn fucking me senseless. This was fucking. This was the kind of fucking that the after effects were of worrying about nothing in the world. But if you were in love with him, it was a whole different story. The fact that this amount of pleasure was real and I was receiving it from the only perfect person I know was too much to handle.

I felt every inch of his dick in me, hitting my bundle of nerves precisely with each thrust. It was so hot. And Zayn was so hot, literally. Sweat dripped down his abs, pooling around where we connected, making it easier to move. I was close. It was too good. And just like all good things, they end. “Say it. Say my name,” he ordered through his teeth.

“ _Zayn”_ I screamed, climaxing simultaneously. He lifted my orgasm as high as it can go before sputtering inside me as well. I felt his substance sway in me. It was foreign, yet known. After fucking me through his orgasm, he lay limp on me, catching his breath. I listened to his gasps of air and felt his sporadic heartbeat against the inside of my calf. It was beautiful. Fuck, everything about him was. And I hated it. 

“Zayn?”

“Hm?”

“I can’t feel my legs.” He rolled off me and settled against the bed on his back.

“Sorry, man.” Getting up, I stretched but winced at the stark soreness of my rear.

“You should be.” I gathered my clothes and was about to walk out, hand on doorknob, when Zayn noticed.

“Where are you going?” 

“Going to go shower.”

“I’ll come to.” He hopped off the bed in one move, but faltered when he saw my expression. “If that’s fine, of course. Is it?”

_Of course it’s not. I want to cry and sulk about how you’ll never be mine. I want to close in on myself and forget this ever happened because though it was mindless fucking to you, it was everything to me. You give me mixed signals that keep me up at night thinking if you actually feel the same. But you never will. You’ll never know just how madly in love I am with you because I’m afraid you’ll walk away. And if you ever see how desperate I seem, I know you will._

“'Course.” He sprinted out the door in front of me and I struggled to keep up. Arriving, he was bent towards the tub to make sure it was the right temperature. “This position has its advantages,” I murmured, pressing my body against his nude arse. It felt glorious and my dick gave a twitch in anticipation. He must’ve felt it.

“Slow down, cowboy. We’re just showering.”

"My arse might be sore for days now. You owe me.”

“I do,” he said turning around and planting a kiss on my lips. “I do owe you. And I like your arse sore.” He gripped it with one hand while I moved him away, getting under the warm spray of the water.

“Masochist.”

“Pessimist.”

“Just get in here already.”

“All right, all right. Someone’s feisty.”

“Not at all,” I hummed as the water gently showered me. He came behind me and pressed me against him, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist.

“You’re always so cold,” he hissed.

“You’re always so warm.”

“You love it.” 

“I do.” _If you only knew how much_.

Apart from him giving me an honorary blowjob under the steam of the water, we showered in silence. I dressed in my room. He dressed in his. It was late. I had work in a few hours. And as I was getting situated under the covers in my dark comforting room, my door creaked open and the shuffling of my blankets behind me allowed me to know Zayn was sleeping with me. Yet again.

This became constant and common. It didn’t make us uncomfortable; neither did it initiate anything more in our friendship. It was normal for us. My back was flush against his bare chest. Even through my shirt, I could’ve felt the heat from him. “Today was fun. Our fucking was unbelievable. We should make a porn movie.” I smiled at the comment.

“As long as my name’s the Irish Shaft.” I heard his laughter against the top of my head.

“You funny guy. You know I love you, right?” he asked with a smile evident in his voice.

_I know. I know you love me. But do you know I love you? Do you know how much I love you? Do you know you’ve been the reason for my existence for the past six years? Do you know I can go a whole day just naming everything I love about you? Do you know I’ll lay my life on the line without a second thought if it meant you’ll be happy for the rest of your life? Do you know when you’re old, with grey frizzy hair instead of your natural black duo’, with wrinkled nearly closed eyes instead of your bright jeweled gold ones, and with a negative attitude towards everything instead of your accustomed optimism towards the darkest part of every situation, I’ll still fall in love with you every day like how it's been since I first day I laid eyes on you?_

“I know.”

 

 

"Let's take a break, guys," my best friend/co-worker said through the intercom to the performing band across the glass window. He sat back in his chair and took a sip from his latte when the lead singer of the band entered the room and plopped himself on his lap.

"How was I, baby?" he asked while pressing himself further into the smaller boy under him.

"Ew, Harry. You're sweaty and you stink," he grimaced in response while shying the drink away from his boyfriend.

"This is the effect you have on me. Hey, Ni," he greeted in my direction, still trying to get the latte out of Louis' hand.

"Harry," I smiled while sitting in my chair. I took a sip from my hot drink and watched the scene in front of me. Harry soon grasped the latte in triumph making Louis scowl. Harry just looked on fondly, making Louis shrug and bite down the smile forming on his face.

"I hear wedding bells..." I murmured with the cup pressed to my mouth. Louis turned in my direction, shaking the fringe of hair out of his face.

"Hardly."

"Hey!" Harry said defensively. Louis pushed Harry out of his lap and had them stand next to each other.

"How is it that I have to tiptoe to kiss my twenty-two year-old boyfriend? I'll be twenty-five soon." It was obvious. Louis's hair, thick strands of golden brown weaving in every direction, reached where Harry's dark curls ended. But it was cute.

Harry wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's middle and pulled him in an embrace before peppering his face with kisses. "Love has no boundaries." Louis mimicked him before returning the affection with a light, full kiss to his mouth. I pushed against the floor making the chair spin.

"All I know is that I better be the best man. No ifs, ands, or buts."

"As long as I'm _your_ best man," Louis retorted.

I winked at him when he came to view before the room spun again. "Who else?" Harry settled back in the seat while Louis worked among the buttons and switches of the set in front of him. I leaned back and thought of Zayn. 

What is he doing now? Maybe typing away on the computer. I made him breakfast. Did he eat it all? Did he even get to work on time? By the time I was ready, he was still fast asleep. He always wakes up later than what he'd like. I tried waking him up, like every morning. But it's nearly impossible. Maybe I should set his ringtone to the marimba one he hates. He'll get out of bed quicker. Would he be home when I get there? We can grab a bite at Nandos. Mmmmm, Nandos. He'll like that. So would I. Maybe we can get that--

"Niall?"

"Yeah?"

"I said are you coming with us to grab a bite?" Louis asked perplexed. I wanted to agree so badly, but we couldn’t. There was still work to do.

“I don’t think we’re free just yet.” I handed him our list of songs Harry and his band had to look over. It was a unanimous decision that they had to complete a cover for their next album. Louis dramatically groaned while handing the list to Harry. He examined it carefully.

“ _Sail_? By AWOLNATION? I like their music, but I can’t get my voice to sound that rough,” he said with a frown. I shrugged and said Louis picked it out. Harry looked at him deadpanned.

“What?” Louis harshly asked. “I thought you’d sound hot while practicing at home.”

Harry rolled his eyes and looked through again. “Um. I don't know if you've actually went through this, but it's long as shit. How do you expect us to choose?”

“S'better to be safe than sorry.”

“I like Alpha Rev’s _Phoenix Burn_. Or maybe _New Morning_?”

“I’ve been stuck on Bastille’s _Pompeii_ lately. They’re great.”

“They are. So is _Anna Sun_ by Walk The Moon."

“Mayday Parade’s _Stay_.”

“Anything Imagine Dragons!”

“ALL RIGHT! Whateve, you fucking indie shits. Can we please go eat now?” Harry and I agreed before his boyfriend went into a bigger bitch fit.

Shuffling into my jacket, Louis and Harry looked at each other in recognition before Harry looked to me. "Start to the car without me. I'll meet you in a minute." Leaving the building, Louis sent me darts of glances without fully making eye contact with me. And he was silent. I waited until we were in the privacy of the car and we had the heater on. Sitting in the driver seat I strummed against the steering wheel before turning to Louis.

Just as I was going to speak, he sheepishly looked at me. "Don't get mad. Don't freak out. Just...let it be. Okay?" I couldn't question what he meant when the studio door opened revealing Harry. And Josh tagging along with him.

"Louis--"

"I know you don't like him, but just give him a chance. A slight chance. And if it works, bingo! If it doesn't, you can rub it in my face and I'll buy you lunch for a week. From anywhere you want." I only grimaced before the back doors opened. Josh sitting behind me. 

I had nothing against the lad. Nothing at all. He's actually a friend. We're both musicians, he beat the drums while I strummed the guitar to our favorite songs. He's obviously attractive, simply hilarious, etc. And he has all the good important qualities; he's clean, will hold the door open for me, and occasionally says the simplest things that brightens my whole day. As I looked at him through the rearview mirror, he appeared shy. Shortly smiling when he eyed me and looking away reddened before I can get a word out. His dark brown hair is unkempt, like he woke up late, but it's right on the edge that it's passable. Pale porcelain features. And a physique that'll have you wanting to run your hands across his arms, and other places. There's just one thing.

He's not Zayn.

 

 

"Yes! I love this place," Louis spoke while skimming through the menu. We were at Louis and mine's usual spot. A secluded diner that had the dim-lights-performing-amateurs kind of deal. But the food? Extraordinary. And the gigs were actually good. Josh and I once performed with Harry who sung Sleeping with Siren's _Scene One-James Dean and Audrey Hepburn_. He pulled it off with his deep timbre of a voice, and he publicly dedicated it to Louis, who didn't cry at all but said he had something in his eyes. Both of them.

Today, the performers were poets, reading out loud their works. I listened to their voices in the back of my mind while reading the menu options. Josh was next to me, fumbling with his bracelets and constantly running his hand through his hair. I felt bad. So I leaned towards him to look at his menu which was on a different page than mine.

"I think I might get the Cajun Chicken Sandwich with French fries. I have a thing for fast food, sorry." I tried to lighten the mood. It worked. He laughed.

"You have a thing for anything edible."

"And that is why you're my friend. You know me so well." I nudged his shoulder and went back to my menu before asking, "What are you getting?" He hummed while looking.

"Probably the Three Cheese Rigatoni with Chicken. Chicken is always needed and I'm feeling fancy."

"I agree with the first statement, but fancy? You're feeling fancy?"

"Italian food is fancy. I might order a glass of wine to go with it." I smirked as I scanned the drinks. "A glass of that overpriced, pale, disgusting wine, please," he said a bit too loud. I laughed out loud before adding my drink as well.

"And a beer for me!" He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. "What? You're feeling kind of fancy. I'm feeling kind of homesick. I need my blood to run thick with the alcohol of my people. Especially beer."

"Just don't drink too much. Wouldn't want to have to escort you out by carrying you. I wouldn't mind a bit, but getting drunk in broad daylight isn't always good."

"And drinking wine with lunch might not be such a good idea, either," I joked. Despite popular belief of Celtic natives, not all of us can hold down several pints without seeming woozy. As much as I love beer, or any other alcohol beverage, I always keep it to a limit. Been drunk once. Never again.

He gazed at me with a smirk. I simply winked and blew him a kiss before my attention was focused on the performer. A young girl, probably my age, was performing. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Beyond beautiful. If I was attracted to the opposite gender, I wouldn’t doubt I’d attempt to get her number. Or at least talk to her. Her platinum blonde hair contrasted against her heavy set of eye makeup so perfectly it was surreal. Bright, bright eyes that held nothing back and a petite body that made you want to cradle her. 

Reading off a crumbling piece of paper that looked like she saved it for years, she read with body language, as if letting out all her frustration by tightening her grasp on the paper or raising her hands toward the light before gripping thin air. I was never one to decipher poetry, even if it was written explicitly and thoroughly. So I only assumed the girl was speaking about lost love. She said it a few times, and her words did flow.

She finished and everyone clapped. Including me though I barely understood it. But I felt pity. I wanted to rush over to her and tell her she wasn’t alone. That I know what it feels like to be alone. To want the only thing you can’t have. To aspire each and every single day for that one person who completes you so precisely it’s practically sickening. That no matter how low your chances are, you still hold on to that dwindling faith that he might just feel the same one day because nothing else seems to get you out of bed on your worst mornings. That someday, just maybe, he’ll realize it’s love. And that it’s real. And that no one else--

Louis sighed. “I know I said whoever touched their phone first pays the bill, but dammit, Niall, just get your phone before I get it for you!” I woke from my trance to find my mobile device sliding against the table on vibration. Grabbing it, I read the caller ID: _Zayn <3_.

I know, the heart is cliché. But Zayn ordered me to do it. And that no one else’s name can have one, too. He’s such a confusing prick. I made sure my name was the only one with a heart also. “Hello?” I answered while entering the bathroom.

“Babe! Where the fuck have you been?” My heart leaped frantically at his outburst. Steadying my breathing, I replied I was out with friends. He asked who and when I told him, there was a pause. “Josh Devine?”

“Yeah, what other Josh is there?” I laughed. He made a prolonged noise as if thinking of a way to answer.

“Well, you know, I told you how I feel about him. He just doesn’t seem like your. . .type.” I couldn’t get a word out because he continued again. “And I just don’t like him for you. I never did. He’s your good friend and all, but just that. Nothing else. I hope you’re not settling for him.”

“What would be wrong with that? He’s a great guy in every category.” 

“How do you know that? You barely hang out with him. Have you been hanging out with him or something, Niall?” I sighed. I knew I shouldn’t have said that he was a great guy, but I didn’t like Zayn coming at Josh; he didn’t deserve it. “Niall, have you?!” he raised his voice.  My cackled laugh filled the empty bathroom, seeming like it bounced on the walls.

“No, Zayn. I would never. I only have eyes for you.” Literally, completely, faithfully, indisputably, truly, legitimately, and all those other –ly’s.

“Good,” his voice gentled and I pressed my back against the wall to hold myself upright. I didn’t respond, and he didn’t say anything else. It was a beautiful silence. It could’ve last forever and I wouldn’t complain if it meant Zayn would stay on the other line with me. His tempo breathing was the only sound emitting through the line, and I adored it. I wanted to tell him everything then and there. I couldn’t say it to his face if someone threatened to kill me in the most brutal of ways. But with the silence (and the amazing fact I couldn’t see his flawless face) it felt like it wouldn’t be wrong if I confessed. This moment felt right. It felt significant. It felt good. But as I breathed in, realization hit me that if he didn’t feel the same, much less accept my never failing love, all my false hope would definitely demolish, along with me. And like all good things, they end. 

“So, what did you have to tell me?” I pitifully asked while rubbing the back of my neck. Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_  

“Oh! Yeah, are you staying after work long?”

“Probably an hour. We need to pick a song to cover.”

“That’s not late. Liam and I planned on going to this promotion-party thing. Drinking, partying, and dancing tonight. He’s inviting Danielle. And I know how you like those spur of the moment events. You’re going, right?”

…a party. Drinking? Dancing? I don’t necessarily drink that much. And I couldn’t even pull off the _Riverdance_ if I lived my whole life in my homeland. He might flirt with other girls and boys. Fuck that. He _will_  flirt with them. He might even take one of them home. And the walls of our apartment aren’t that thick. Zayn’s going to get drunk and I’m going to have to make sure he’s okay throughout it all. I bet he only invited me so he isn't a third wheel.

“Hell, yeah, I am!”

 

 

I have approximately five minutes before Zayn barges into my room demanding us to go to the party. I just don't like the way I look. Everything about me is pale. Pale blonde hair. Pale blue eyes. Pale skin. Pale baby blue shirt. Pale beige pants. Even my white sneakers seem pale. Pale pale pale. I groaned at my reflection before sitting down at the edge of my bed. This is so frustrating.

I’m not like Zayn. Everything about Zayn shines and is radiant. His eyes. His attire. His body. His breathtaking smile. Even his jet black hair seems to glow. He’s like the sun. All warm and bringing happiness wherever he goes. He’s my sun. I revolve around him. Everything is him. I know it’s so pathetic, but he really is everything I want in someone. But with the little bit of pride I had left, I walked out my room and found Zayn sprawled on the sofa, texting away. “Who’re you texting?” 

“What the hell do you do in there while dressing up? You take forever. Hey, you look nice.” He sat up and made his way over to me. After six years, I should be used to his daily actions (e.g., his walk), but the way he walked towards me, the way he carried himself in this simple gesture, so confident, so nonchalant, so powerful, had my breath hitched in my throat. I wanted to back up and shy away while simultaneously reach out and pull him into an embrace, pouring out all my love. But that would be too long and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.

He stopped right in front of me. My vision reached the point of his nose, slightly making me shift my gaze north. Today, he was happy. From the way his eyes resembled melted gold to how his cheeks held a tint of pink under his sun-kissed skin. “Nice shirt. Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” he asked with a smirk. I looked down at my shirt. He remembered it. He gave it to me during our first year being roommates. I told him my favorite color was blue. About two weeks after, he came home from shopping and handed it to me. “Your favorite color. And it goes with your eyes,” he’d said with a mirror so I can see the similarities. That was years ago. He remembered.

My face must’ve been on fire. Merely shrugging, I made my way towards the rack of jackets. “I’m surprised you remember,” I chuckled.

“I remember a lot of things,” he murmured behind me. His hands rested on my waist as he pressed against me before continuing. “I also remember we haven’t made love in a long time.” As if to prove his point, his dick twitched on my bum.

“Strange. I don’t even remember making love at all.” But I can’t lie; I imagined it some nights when I was alone. Just the thought had me slightly aroused. He made a noise of annoyance.

“Don’t say that. What about our first time? I was slow, and loving. That’s making love. And many times after that we did.” He nuzzled his nose in my hair, inhaling. He softly pushed into me, making his point more prominent. Literally. I groaned and pushed my head back till it rested against his collarbone.

I wanted this. I really did. But afterwards I’m going to be fucked up (not only literally) and I won’t enjoy this party, that I still don’t know who’s it for. I guess he knew I was overthinking about it all because he ran his hands down my arms and whispered sweet nothings into my ear, making me forget about everything except the feel of him pressed to me. He knew what he was doing. I didn’t want to give in so easy, but he wasn’t trying to have me on the edge this time, I knew. He was being slow, taking his time, as if trying to enjoy every moment. I know I was.

“Is this okay?” he whispered into my ear before kissing the skin under it. I nodded. My eyes were closed, my skin flush, and my heart seemed to beat against its cage viciously. He seemed to be in the same position as me. His breath drew in puffs against my neck, His hands hesitated as they traveled down my arms, and I felt his heartbeat on my back.

“Zayn?” I questioned, turning my head to look at him. His face held worry before looking at me. He smiled, showing a bit of teeth. “Are you okay?” I asked.

He pecked my lips. “I’m perfect.” His lips met mine again and I drank in the feel of it. His lips did wonders. His hands prisoned me against the counter, it pressing against my groin and I skimmed my fingers through his feathery hair. So, so, soft. His mouth traveled down my throat, up to my jaw, behind my ear, down my throat again, and continued in a sensual pattern. How could I not give in easily with him making me go insane with this simple gesture. 

His hands ran up my shirt, grabbing my nipples on top of the cloth. It was even more sensitive this way. An unplanned moan traveled out my mouth. He wouldn’t stop. His fingers laced and moved in complex ways across the buds. “Zayn, I can’t-“ I tried to say I won’t last long this way. He seemed to understand.

“Shh,” he murmured while bending me down till my face was flush against the countertop. Oh, how I just wanted him to fuck me already. My arse was still kind of sore from the night before, but, come on, it’s _Zayn_. I wanted this. And maybe he wanted it just as bad.

My pants were bunched around my knees and I felt his fingers in my boxers’ waistband as he pulled them down, slowly. “Zayn,” I whimpered, squirming under his touch that was barely there. “Hurry up. I thought we had a party to go to.”

“You can’t rush love, Niall.” _This fucker had the nerve to tell me that!_

“I just want you. Inside me already. You’re being slower than usual.” Again, he shushed me. With entering a lubricated finger in me. The feeling, like always at first, seemed unusual, out of place. But he added another before I was adapted. And how he curled his fingers had me wanting to come right then and there. And I thought they did wonders on my nipples. Ha!

His hand was resting at the dip of my back, massaging my spine and thumbing my lower back, while the other’s fingers worked in me. I was a hot, sweaty, moaning mess. I couldn’t help it. It’s Zayn, goddammit! “Zayn,” I moaned, but it came out more like a whine, high-pitched and naggy. “Just- fuck. Please, fuck- _ah!_ “ I was cut off when the pad of his middle finger fully grazed my prostrate. He must’ve known this. He didn’t stop. Continuing, as if curling his finger around it, he pushed more into me. Fuck, this was too surreal. One hand scratching at the counter for something to grasp, the other grabbed my dick in a firm grip before pumping to the beat of his thrusts. “Fuck, Zayn. Fu-- _yessss_.” 

I wasn’t into the whole moaning-talking during sex, but he just had me unable to control myself. I know after this, he was going to bring it up multiple times, but I couldn’t help it. As if to make matters worse, he gently pushed my hand aside and prisoned my dick in his grip, the heat of his hand seeming to wrap all over me. He continued where I stopped, pumping in beat to his grazes against my prostrate. I felt his lips brush my lower back before planting a full tender kiss on the heated skin there. With a muffled scream of his name (my hand was clasped around my mouth), I came all over my shirt and his hand. His warm touch soon evaded me and I realized he moved away. I groaned at the realization that I had to change my shirt. 

I was going to stand up when his hand held the back of my neck in a hold. He clicked his tongue a few times. “Oh, no, babe. I’m not done with you yet.” I swallowed, trying to turn my head in his grip to look at him. From the corner of my eye, he was smothering his dick with something –lube? Does he carry it everywhere he goes?- and he put the tip to my entrance. I felt it beat like a heart from this contact. Pushing in so slowly as if scared I might break or something, he entered. 

I heard his intake of breath and he didn’t breathe out until he was fully sheathed. At this angle, his dick was pressed against my prostate so prominent, I squeezed my eyes shut and gasped out loud, scratching against the counter again. It was too good. I was still too sensitive from the previous activity. It was so much pleasure it was kind of painful. I wanted to squirm and I mistakenly clenched around Zayn, making his grip on my waist tighten. “ _N-Niall_ ,” he seemed to squeeze out of his throat. I couldn’t do this. I felt like I might cry with one more stroke.

Keeping his firm grasp on my waist, he pushed away till the head was the only part in. I pushed up from the counter, my hands pressed against it to keep me elevated. “Zayn, this is too much,” I whispered, near tears.

“Baby, shh. Shh. Shh.” His hands topped mine and entwined our fingers. His head was in the dip of my back, warming me with kisses up and down my spine. As he entered me again, I felt his hot breath, shivering me. “You’re perfect, baby,” he breathed before pulling out and entering to the best of his ability. "So, so perfect." He was still so slow. Enjoying everything. I felt his dick drag patiently, rubbing my bundle of nerves to the point my face was wet with tears. My head was thrown back, inhuman noises being forced out of me by the way he was fucking me. No, making love. And I’ve never felt so good and loved before in my life.

“Zayn. Please, go faster. Fuck-- Christ. Zayn, I--“ he pushed into me at a rather forceful angle, hitching my breath and robbing me of senses besides shutting my eyes tight and crying out, tears still falling.

“I’m having all of you,” he dragged to the rhythm of his thrusts that went back to the slow tempo. His grip on my hands tightened and he was so sheathed he was pressed against my back, sending me an inch or two more on top of the counter. “You”-thrust-“are”-thrust-“mine.” I hung my head in pleasure as he went back to making love to me. My body shook with tremors at each contact with that one spot in me. That one spot that had me not thinking straight. 

Zayn was close from the way his breathing quickened in gasps and how he tried to be slow, but was picking up speed. I was close. It felt like my prostrate was closing in on itself, trying to save itself from this massive painful/pleasure-filled sex. I had it. With one more stroke, I felt myself give up. And as I came so much it seemed never ending and as he rolled his hips to take my orgasm as high as it can go, I said to myself, “Zayn, I love you.” He came right after, sending liquid ropes in me that didn’t feel so out of place anymore. After his high, he lay limp on my back, sweat building between us.

We lay there in comfortable silence, him playing with my hair and me skimming my fingers across the back of his hand. I was filled with so much love for him at the moment. It was overflowing me with showers. And all I wished for was that he was under this influence with me, so he can know how much I really love him. How one person can be filled was so much emotion they’ll look past all the obstacles and tribulations in front of them because they mean nothing if that person is by your side the whole time. I sighed, coming back to reality. Like always, the good ended. “Now I have to change my shirt,” I grumbled.

“Maybe your whole outfit.” He moved away from me and helped me to my room since my legs were still like jelly. Plopped on my bed, he watched me change. He kept ushering me to hurry up because he didn’t want to be the last one at the party. At a specific time, I glared at him, my expression reading: if you could’ve wait for later we could’ve been left. I expected him to reply with sarcasm, or something mildly offensive. But he just pulled me on the bed with him and what he said stilled my heart for moments afterwards. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re the only one I ever made love to.”

 

*

 

The party was excellent. I congratulated the one who it was for. His name was Matt something. And Louis, Harry, and Josh came. Louis forced the event out of me, much to his displeasure. He doesn’t like Zayn at all; much less does he like him for me. I even brought the girl from the diner with us. Her name is Perrie and she is so sweet. I reckon I could’ve steered her towards Josh while I hung with Zayn. Turns out, just my luck, Zayn was with Perrie most of the time! That forced me to be with Josh. Of course, it wasn’t that much of a bother, but Zayn barely paid mind to me since she came into the picture. As soon as they saw each other, he strolled over to her, and they’ve been inseparable since.

The morning after, I found her roaming the kitchen. Zayn was going to flip, I know it. But with a slam of the fridge, Zayn came into view with his rumpled hair and sweats that held lazily to his hips. I just stood there, gobsmacked. Never, ever, _ever_ , did someone we brought home stay until the next morning. It was a rule; a tradition. And he just broke it. He noticed my expression. “We’re making breakfast. I added extra for you. Care to join?”

_Care to join? Are you fucking with me? You broke our rule! Our one important rule! How dare you! Weekend mornings are our thing. We’re the ones cooking breakfast. And you have the audacity to ask if I want to eat breakfast with you, you cunt?!_

“Sure.” 

That was weeks ago. And they’re still hanging out. I come home late after work to find them at Zayn and _mine’s_ dining room table. Or lounging in Zayn and _mine’s_ living room. The last time we slept together (and I literally just mean sleep) was the night before she came in the picture. Yes, I know, it’s my fault. And I know I should be mad, but I can’t be mad.

Perrie is perfect in everything. She’s beautiful, inside and out. She’s respectful. She cooks and cleans our apartment even though she doesn’t live with us. She has been staying here a lot, but still, she doesn’t have to do that. She’s nice to me, too. Always happy and asking how my day was. And she genuinely cares for Zayn. From the way she smiles when he laughs to how concentrated her face gets when he’s serious.  And Zayn seems happy, too. So why should I be mad? I guess this is my entire fault. Maybe I should’ve told him how I feel years ago. I let this go on for so long. For as long as we’ve been mates, he’s never been serious with someone. 

Since he’s been with Perrie, I’ve been hanging out with Josh. I’m not taking advantage of him, though. Ironically, around the same time, he’s asked me to go out for once. Him personally. Not through Louis or Harry. And I enjoy his company more than I should. He’s passed the phase of being shy around me and he’s a full-blown goofball. Sometimes I can’t even keep up with him. Turns out, I do like him, more than a friend. But he’s not Zayn.

As much as some part of me might want to take it further with Josh, I can’t. I wouldn’t be fair to him. He deserves someone who can be 100% with him. And that’s just not me. I know I’ll always be in love with Zayn, but I wonder if I’ll ever be able to have a relationship with someone else. Mmm, probably not.

 

I came home one morning from spending the night at Josh’s place, our first night together. He was very sweet and romantic and as I opened the door, I had a smile plastered on my face. He’s such a great guy. I hope after this ends, we’ll still be able to be friends. I was under the blissful after affects of the night prior as I poured myself something to drink when I realized I wasn’t alone.

“Where the fuck were you?”

I turned to find Zayn sitting at the table, facing me. Was he there the whole time? He looked like shit. He looked like he didn’t sleep at all. His chin held flecks of black hair growing in. His normal gold eyes seemed pale and dull with bags under. And his signature million-dollar smile was replaced with a grim line of his mouth.  “I was at Josh’s,” I answered, as if it was obvious. His chair screeched back as if it was in pain as he shot up from sitting down.

“Josh Devine?”

I sighed, this was getting annoying already. “Yeah, what other Josh is there?” I repeated from weeks ago. I looked at him, and I wish I hadn’t. I swear he never looked so menacing. He looked like he wanted to grip my throat and stop my airways. This wasn’t Zayn. He slowly walked over to me.

“I told you how I feel about him.”

“Yeah, I know. But he’s really not that bad once you get to know him.”

“I don’t want to know him.”

“Okay. You don’t have to,” I nodded. I was getting nervous. Maybe he didn’t get sleep. That’s why he was scary. But as he made his way towards me, I realized this was the longest conversation we had since Perrie entered the picture. “Hey, where’s Perrie?”

“She went home last night. Don’t change the subject.”

“Jeez, Zayn. What’s gotten into you?”

“I told you. I don’t like Josh.”

“You’ve made that perfectly clear. And I told you if you get to know him-“

“I DON’T WANT TO KNOW HIM!”

He was practically hovering over me. He was crossing the line. “I never said you had to! Calm down!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when I’ve been up all night worrying about where the fuck were you. Answer your goddamn phone, will you?” Oh, right. Shit. My phone died in the middle of our movie yesterday. But as I looked at Zayn, the beautiful Zayn who never seemed so angry and disturbing right now, I couldn’t help the unpleasant feeling boiling inside me.

“What? Now that your girlfriend isn’t here, you remembered I was still around? I’m actually not, Zayn.” I moved around him when he gripped my wrist, his hold was gentle.

“Niall, don’t say that,” he said, his tone dwindling with each word. I turned to him, and he did look sad, broken even. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I just…I was worried sick. I couldn’t get in contact with you. And now that I know you’ve spent the night with him,” he had trouble saying it and he physically shuddered at the thought. “I’ll make it up. Did you eat breakfast? Come on. We can have Nandos for breakfast. My treat.” His mouth turned to an anticipated smile, and his eyes did seem softer, brighter. He didn’t release my wrist and I felt his thumb trail loosely against my skin there. I smiled at him.

“No, thanks. I’m actually not that hungry.” His grip faltered and with another smile, I left him standing there. Never, ever, did I turn him down. That good thing of ours ended, like everything else.

 

“Niall, wake up!” I was softly shoved and I immediately woke. Josh was laughing over me. Sitting down next to me, he nudged my shoulder. I was at the studio. The list of songs was still in front of me. We still haven’t picked a song to cover. I groaned, slamming my head on the table and muttering an ow. “Seems like you haven’t slept last night.”

“No, I haven’t. Yesterday wasn’t very pleasant.”

“Why’s that, babe?” Recognition shot through me. Zayn called me that. Yes, called. 

“Just…” I fumbled through my thoughts for something to say before grabbing the list tightly, “…this stupid song we have to pick. I’ve been through this list for eons and I still can’t pick one.”

“You’re exaggerating. Come on, I’ll help.” He stood behind me, hands massaging my shoulders as he leaned down to look at the list clearly. I skimmed them myself.

Flightless Bird, American Mouth – Iron & Wine

Stuck On You – New Politics

Jamie All Over – Mayday Parade

Distance – Christina Perri

Drunk – Ed Sheeran

Mountain Sound – Of Monsters and Men

These were just a percentage of all the songs. They’re all great. But none of them feels right. I groaned out loud again. “Why do you have to do a cover song anyway?” I groaned.

“So we can bring other artists and bands attention to the media,” he said with a kiss to my temple.

“And I think it’s pretty cool. Changing a song to sound more like us,” Harry said, looking over a copy of the list with Louis. 

“I think _Sleep Alone_ by Two Door Cinema Club is cool,” Louis murmured with a pencil in his mouth.

“I think this is stupid,” I retorted. “Who came up with this, anyway?”

“You did,” all three of them said in unison. I merely grumbled, staring back at the list.

 

 

The following weeks seemed unbearable. Zayn and I barely said a word to each other besides a text here and there reading ‘ _out of milk_ ’ or ‘ _cooked dinner. In the fridge/microwave_.’ It was physically painful. The nights I didn’t spent with Josh were spent alone, curled up in my bed just hoping tonight would be easier than the night before. The pain and agony seemed to clutch at my heart, as if desperate to escape its cage in me. I’d give anything for it to leave also. But there was no antidote for it. There was no cure to make it seem like it was never there. No, it was very there and very much present. I needed Zayn. 

My sleeping schedule seemed to change. The day was spent trying to fight exhaustion while the night was spent wide awake praying, begging, pleading, that Zayn will walk out his room down the hall, enter mine, and hold me to his warm chest, whispering his usual insults or compliments in my ear before saying he loved me. Everything was cold. Everything was not Zayn, yet he still reigned my thoughts, practically mocking me. I decided to give it one more go. I was going to try one more time.

The next morning, I woke up early, having in mind to make breakfast. Extra for Perrie, of course. As I entered the kitchen, empty white containers were sprawled across the table. I looked in them. Residue from their breakfast was there. Pancakes. Eggs. Hash browns. Toast. Bacon. All of it. They ate breakfast, and he didn’t save me any. He always did. Always painfully did. I felt an unfamiliar knot in my throat as I went to his room, knocking on the door. No one answered. I knocked again and again. No answer. Slowly opening the door, it was empty. The bed was done and the room was clean.  He already left for the day. This early. He never woke up this early. Never. Ever. I backed away, closing the door and leaving no evidence that I was present. How….How can-- I couldn’t even phrase what I wanted to say. I’ve been around for six years. I’ve been his friend for six years, always there for him, there for him to vent, there for him to talk to. There for everything. And never did he wake up this early. So many nevers were being broken. What did she have that I didn’t? I thought I was at least passable. I mean, he loves me, still, right? I’m still his favorite. I thought he was in love with me? Maybe he wasn’t.

I had no one to blame but myself. I let this go on for too long. I brought Perrie into the picture. I never told him. Why why why why.

My back hit the wall and I sat on the floor. I was losing Zayn. We weren’t an item anymore. No more Ziall, as he called it. Now it’s what? Zerrie? Payn? My vision blurred and only then did I realize I was crying. I bashed them away fiercely. I will not cry. I willed myself not to. This couldn’t be. Where was the Zayn I knew? The one who’d show me love at any possible moment. The one who slept most nights in my bed than in his own. I was beginning to forget how his warmth felt. Perrie was getting Zayn. Perrie was sleeping with Zayn. Perrie was making love with Zayn.

I needed to get out of here and I went to the only place that was the closest thing to home now.

 

 

The warm cup of coffee in front of me did nothing to warm me up. I needed Zayn. I needed him. But why? I can’t even remember how it felt when he wasn’t around. I think I was going through it, though. And now that I got a taste of him, felt his sun and joy throughout our years, I didn’t know how to go back. Maybe our time was up. Maybe it was all temporary. Was this it? I didn’t want to overreact, but the way things were going with Perrie, he seemed happy. Content. Their laughs emitted through the walls at home--his home. They were comfortable with each other already, and it was obvious something was there.

I wanted to sleep. To really sleep for hours with Zayn’s limbs tangled with mine. To wake up first and stay there, pressed to him as he breathed in slumber. But I couldn’t sleep there. Not anymore. I couldn’t be here with Zayn and Perrie. I was happy for him, I really was. But I wasn’t with myself. I should’ve initiated something when I had the chance. Something. Anything. But now what? I was done. We were done. Zayn and I were done.

That thought had another drizzle of tears trail down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them away anymore. There was no point. New ones will take its place. Maybe I should visit my brother, Greg, in Ireland. He recently got married and had a baby. I’m an uncle. I have a nephew. That’ll keep my mind off things. Yeah, I’ll do that.

“Figured I’ll find you here.” I looked up and saw Josh, gleaming his white smile and poreless face. But his expression fell when he noticed mine. Immediately, he was seated next to me, grabbing my face and wiping the tears away. “Babe! Where the fuck have you been? And what’s wrong?” 

I burst out in tears, covering my face and attempting to be quiet. Why must he remind me of Zayn? Why must this hurt so much? Why must I be so naïve to think we would be together one day when I waited so long? Zayn was perfect. Perrie was perfect. They were perfect together. I thought Zayn and I were. How can he be the one for me, but not the other way? I don’t get it. I want to understand. I’m begging to understand. Please, someone. Anyone. Tell me how to get through this. Tell me how to live around the fact of being in love with him. How can I be happy like this?

“Oh, Niall. Talk to me, please.”

How do I tell him I’m not over Zayn? His eyes always held hope, always had a hidden faith that I’ll get over Zayn and we’ll be happy together. It was always there; his aspiration. And who was I to crush him? Yet who was I to lead him on, thinking it was going swell? The thoughts had me bury my face in my hands, trying to will them away. 

I was a cruel, sick person. I can’t hurt Josh. I can’t. But I’m hurting him now. As I peeked at him through my fingers, his face was masked with so many emotions. Love. Hurt. Pain. Sorrow. Worry. Hopelessness. Care. And it was too much for me. “Oh, Josh,” I cried, hugging him to me. I was going to lose him. My only normal friend in all this mess. I deserve it. But he doesn’t.

“Niall, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” I murmured, sitting straight and wiping my face. I apologized for my fragile state and he brushed my apology away with grabbing a napkin and dabbing my eyes.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” What? Did he say that? I looked at him and clarity was written across his face in the boldest letters. He must’ve known all along. I should act like I have no idea what he’s talking about. Yeah, I’m clueless to who he’s referring to. 

“How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t really take a genius to know you don’t look at me the way you look at him,” he smirked. My heart was broken beyond pieces now. Josh, always so caring and putting everyone in front of himself, did not deserve this. I wanted to hug him, but who was I. I might make it worse.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, staring at the table cloth in concentration, trying not to cry again but failing. “I’m so sorry, Josh. You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much bet-“

“Hey, I knew all along. I knew what I was getting myself into. And you want to know something?”

“What?”

“I don’t regret anything.” His face never seemed so soft, so gentle. He was so good, maybe even a sun. I could’ve imagine a life with him, and probably I’ll be happy. But Zayn. I met Zayn. I know everything about Zayn. Or knew. Whatever. Point is, it will always be Zayn. I will always compare the person with him. And no one will ever come close to Zayn. No one. Josh spoke again.

“Which is why I was looking for you. I’ve been thinking for a few weeks, and I know we’re not official yet, but I love you, obviously,” he was having trouble saying what he wanted to say. His eyes appeared glassy and out of focus, and he swallowed after every few words. “I’m not sure if this is a good time, but since it’s already out in the open, I, er,” swallow, swallow, swallow.

“Yeah, Josh?” He focused on me, and moved his mouth to form the words. 

“Move in with me.” He said it so clear, and he was so sure of himself. Oh, hell, fuck my life. Sighing, I closed my eyes and ran a finger across my temple.

“Josh, I…I can’t. I would if I could. Please, believe me, but…” I looked at him, and I wish I didn’t. He looked so down, so crushed. I felt my lip tremble, my eyes watered as I finish. “…I can’t.”

I was startled when the table shook, and I realized Josh’s fist was firm against it. His breathing heaved and his face was splotched red. “I- I don’t get it. I mean, I love you. I’m in love with you. I always was. And you can’t because of _him_?” he leaned closer to me, hate evident in his voice mentioning Zayn. “He doesn’t even deserve you!” his voice rose and he was standing up. I stood with him, beckoning him to calm down, telling him to don’t talk of Zayn that way, that he was overreacting, but he just continued. “He’s too blind to realize what’s standing in front of him, but I’m not. I know what I have and I’m not giving you away. I’m not going to let you be with him-“

“Josh, please stop-“

“-he’s stupid for not knowing how you feel about him-“

“-you’re scaring me. Just stop, please-“

“-he is beneath you yet you still love him! He’s so pathetic and if he was here I’d-“

“-STOP!” I screamed. It was quiet. The whole diner was quiet, staring in our direction. His brows were still knit together and mine were sympathetically urging him to calm down, but we were both catching our breath. “Don’t make me choose, Josh,” I whispered that only he heard me. His face finally calmed, but not in a good way. He looked like he gave up. His eyes, his mouth, his eyebrows, all given up. And I felt my heart break even more at what I said next. 

“’Cause it’ll always be him.”

 

I was ready. Everything was settled. My bags were packed. Greg will expect my arrival in a week. I was staying with Louis and Harry in the meantime. And I was telling Zayn. I kept it simple, of course. 

Zayn, hi. You seem good. Are you? Great! Oh, the bags? Yeah, I’m visiting Greg. My brother, in case you didn’t know. Oh, right. You do know him. So, uh, yeah, I’ll see you soon. Say bye to Perrie for me.

“Just like that?” he asked, what seemed like disbelief was etched on all his features. I didn’t want to deal with this. Not right now. “Why do you have to leave?” he asked, as if pleading for me not to go.

“Zayn, I need to go. I’ll be at Louis’ if anything, okay?”

“Wait, what? You’re staying at Louis’? I thought you were seeing Greg.”

Fuck. "I am."

“Am what, Niall? Can you speak clearly?”

“Oh, Zayn, you’re such a cunt! I’m staying at Louis’ then I’m seeing Greg! Clear enough?” 

He was startled. Yeah, I called him a cunt. I was furious at this point. Filled with so much love and anger towards this one individual that was standing hopelessly in front of me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to vent and let out the years’ struggles and pain. All because of him. Because of Zayn. Who I was hopelessly, devotedly in love with. Even in this state, I couldn’t bring myself to cause more pain to him. The mere calling him a cunt had my heart flip in a painful way at how his face contorted to try and hide his bitter disbelief. All the anger had my blood boiling and it was hard to breathe. It was now or never. What the hell.

“I love you,” I clearly said. He slowly made his way to me, taking his time.

“I love you, too, Niall. Now please, think this through. You don’t have to leave. We’ll work something out, I promise. We’ll talk. I’ll be around more, okay?”

“Zayn, I love you,” I said in a way that it dragged between us. “I love you, Zayn. Fuck," I laughed turning to the side before looking at him again." I’m in love with you. I always have been. And you never noticed. It’s killing me to see you with Perrie-“

“Wait. Now, hold on-“

“-and you still won’t listen to me!” I shrieked. I couldn’t believe it. He seemed hesitant. Trying to phrase what he was going to say while reaching out to me. His hand held the crook of my elbow. He was harshly warm. I forgot what it felt like. I closed my eyes in defeat and felt his breath hit my face as he spoke.

“Niall, please, listen to me. I…don’t go. Please. I’m begging you. Please,” his voice cracked, and I closed my eyes more, burying my face in his chest and trying to silence my sobs. But it didn’t work. Nothing worked. Nothing was good. All the good things ended. My love for Zayn, my never ending love for this beautiful and flawless person crying into my hair, wasn’t good. It was killing me, ripping me apart. I sobbed and sobbed into his chest, tightening my hold on him, not wanting to let go, but I’ll have to soon. “I need you,” he cried. “IneedyouIneedyou _Ineedyou_. Don’t leave me, please.” I pulled away until my chin rested on his shoulder. That masculine smell filled my nose, and I realized why he was begging me not to leave. Something I wasn’t aware of till it hit me just now. 

If I was going to leave, once I step out that door, I wasn’t coming back. 

So be it.

“You’re not there for me anymore,” I said without thinking. “I can’t do this anymore. I love you, Zayn. I really do.”

“Stop talking like that! Stop saying goodbyes. You’re not going anywhere.” He held the top of my arms and slightly shook me, as if trying to shake my decision away. His face was wet, his eyes a watery gold, and his bottom lip shook. “I’ll change. I promise, Ni. It’s my fault and I’m sorry, but don’t leave. Please.” I hugged him tighter, grabbed my jacket and bags and looked around for the last time. I could name so much things that I loved about the place, but they all involved Zayn in some way. 

I turned to stare at him. He didn’t move, his hands still positioned when they gripped my arms. His face looked so lost I forgot for a moment I was leaving. I pictured myself running to him, hugging and kissing him till his face held that usual glow and joy. He looked pale, almost sick. And his face was damp with sweat and tears

“Niall, I love you, too. I’m in love with you, too. I am, really. Don’t go.”

I would’ve killed to hear those words, but they didn’t do anything to me right now. They seemed to fall from my shoulders and hit the ground. "You're a real dick to say that now," I said. "You don't just throw that around to get me to stay! Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to hear that and you're gonna say that  _now_? Just to get me to stay? Fuck you!"

My hand on the doorknob, he practically screamed, “Niall!”

This was difficult. Too difficult. I just wanted to leave. I wanted fresh air. I wanted to feel cold, for once. Did he really love me? Was he ever really in love with me? I know he’s not now. He just doesn’t want me to go. But he has Perrie. And Liam and Danielle. And Harry, too. They’re good friends. I turned to find him still standing there, his arms were at his side now. He seemed to be swaying, and he couldn’t focus on me. “Don’t. Go. Stay. I want you to stay. I _want_ you to want to stay. I want you to be with me and only me. Forever. And ever. Just us two. I fucking love you!”  But I needed time for me.

Six years I’ve been locked in this prison called Zayn. For six years, everything was Zayn. Zayn Zayn Zayn. And I allowed it. I closed the door without a backwards glance.

 

 

“Niall, come on. You’re scaring me. Get up. At least talk to Zayn. He’s practically been camping outside the house the whole time." I groaned in reply. I’ve been staying at Louis’ house for three days now. And I haven’t left the four walls of the guest room unless to use the bathroom. “You’re not even eating, for God’s sake!” Louis protested again.

“Louis?” I said softly and pathetically.

“Yes, Niall?”

“Please, shut up.” I buried my head deeper into the pillows. I heard him grumbling something as he left the room. I laid there, just looking at the blackened pillow sheet on my face. It smelled good. It smelled…feminine? Ugh, Louis. I put the pillow against my chest and listened to my playlist of the selected songs to choose from for the cover song. They played in the background. I was far off to pay mind. I laid there, listening to good music, while I thought of Zayn.

I thought of how a slight dimple appears on his chin whenever he takes a drink of something. I thought of how he’ll answer with mhmm’s and yeah’s without looking in my direction when he was intent on finishing a sketch. I thought of how happy he got whenever it rained. “It gives me a reason to stay inside with you,” he’d say. I thought of the time when I tried waking him up by jumping on his bed and screaming “It’s time to get up!” and he merely tried to cover himself with his comforter, which he failed since it was on the floor already. I thought of the first time we made love and how he held on to me as if I’d disappear in a second. I remember I reassured him that I was okay, that I wasn’t going anywhere, and he responded with a forlorn face, “I just really care for you.” 

I thought about the time we saw Purge in our homey little living room in the dark. I remembered how we clutched onto each other’s shirts. I remember we just sat there afterwards and he looked at me and said, “I’ll give up my life so you can live,” before kissing my forehead. I thought about the time we sat at a bowling alley for hours and freeloaded on the songs playing. We just laughed and saw families make strikes and picked up bowling balls and threatened to throw them at each other. And I remember thinking, if my whole life lasted like this, I wouldn’t mind at all.

I thought of when he found bed bugs on his bed, and he nearly cried, clinging to me and ordering I do something. I remember we used bomb cans and set them throughout the apartment while we went to a part of Africa that, ironically, was filled with slums. When we came back and had sex that night, he kissed my temple and whispered, “I’m so grateful for you.” I thought of the time when Louis put it to my attention that Josh was interested in me and Zayn wasn’t comfortable with that. I remember the event when Josh first talked to me, all shy-eyed and fingers-through-hair. I remember feeling an arm wrap securely around my waist and I looked to find Zayn firm against me, eyeing Josh as if he was in the conversation the whole time.

I thought of the time his family visited our apartment. One of his sisters left a nail polish and while he was asleep, I painted his nails a neon purple. I had no idea what I was doing, it came out clumpy and dry, but he practically displayed his hands all day, thanking me for it with a wink. I thought of the time we had to attend a friend’s wedding and he kept messing with his hat in front of a mirror. Changing its position, turning his head in different angles, sending different heart-stopping smiles. I remember whining he looked fine and asking can we go already. And I remember him closing the door behind us while muttering, “……I hate this hat.” And I remember the way he grumbled and turned red every time I made fun of him for that.

I thought of when he asked me if I wanted to move with him after college. I remember being shocked and he read my expression, saying, “What? You think I’m letting you go? We’re in this together, mate.” I thought of when he bought me tickets to see The Eagles for my birthday. I remember when we went and it was so packed and loud and sweaty and great and amazing and just, perfect. And I remember looking at him to find him staring at me, a smile tugging on his full mouth. “You’re cute like this,” he said before kissing me full-on in the middle of a performance. 

I thought of the time I went with him to get his medicated eye glasses and I remember how frazzled he looked when the ophthalmologist called his name to get his vision checked. I remember he was scared at how dim the room was and how the chair shifted at the slightest move. We left afterwards and he joked that he only went through it all because I was there. I remember him looking at me, his head tilt to the side, and saying “you’re the greatest thing that happened to me, Niall. Believe that.” And he placed his arm on my shoulder, pulling me close, and we strolled down the street, as if it was the most normal thing to do.

I thought of everything. I thought of nothing. I thought of the times I thought I forgot. I thought of memories that didn’t seem relevant. I remembered texts and laughs and moans and bills and meals and showers. All shared between us. We shared everything. We had everything. We had.

“Niall? You have a visitor,” Harry cautiously asked. Why can’t Louis leave me alone? I automatically shot up in the bed till I was sitting. “Tell Louis that I’m fine, for god’s-Oh!” 

Yes, I did have a visitor. Liam stood next to the door, seeming so awkward and out of place. He turned to Harry with a tight grin. “Thank you so much. I’ll be as quick as possible. I’m sorry for intruding.” Harry quickly him assured him he wasn’t a bother and that to take as long as he needed. He glared at me before closing the door: be nice. 

Liam shifted from foot to foot, looking down, not sure what to say or do. He seemed hesitant on walking towards me or to the door. But he sighed and brought a chair to the foot of the bed, staring at me the whole time. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. He was going to scream at me, or choke me while we were alone, or do something bad for hurting his best friend. I should be quiet. Maybe if I keep my mouth shut, he won’t hurt me as much. 

“Hi, Liam.”

“Hi.” Seconds, or minutes, passed. What was there to do now? I looked down at my hands, fingers mindlessly moving against my knuckles. This was getting awkward. I didn’t know what else to say. I just wanted to go back to thinking of Zayn. I’m sure he knows how he is. But I can’t ask. I’m sure Zayn’s fine. Probably getting situated with the fact there’s an extra room in the apartment, but nothing major. Besides, Perrie might’ve taken it by now.

“Niall, what were you thinking?” My gaze was fixed on Liam. He was intently staring at me, as if trying to will the answer out of me. His eyebrows pulled down in anger, but his mouth was set in a way that looked like he’s been frowning a lot lately. I made a noise, questioning what he meant. “Don’t play with me. I’m serious. Do you have any idea what this is doing to Zayn?”

“How is Zayn?” I breathed, the name alone making me feel a bit more alive. A bit. “I’m sure he told you I was going to see my brother in Ireland for a week or two. I’ll be back in no time.”

“Don’t fucking-“  he protested, jabbing a finger in my direction before shutting his mouth. He shut his eyes and counted in his head before glaring at me. “I’m not here for games. I’m not here to waste time. I’m here to get my best friend to the way he was before. You broke him. I should be demanding answers, or taking out all my anger on you, but I’m not. I’m asking, politely, why did you leave him after he begged you to stay?” Liam tapped his foot, waiting, but I felt like I’d cry by opening my mouth. But he did deserve answers.

“I don’t know if Zayn told you or not, but I love him. I’m in love with your best friend. Always have been since the beginning. And imagine spending everyday with that person. As friends. Imagine living with Danielle, but as roommates. As friends with benefits, yet you were in love with her. Imagine putting everything aside to put her first, for years. Imagine being confused if she felt the same way or not. Imagine having an urge to display your love every single day, but scared that she’ll reject you. Imagine living with this small hope that took over every sane thought, that sometimes you couldn’t do anything but breathe for a few seconds till you were back to normal. Imagine laying down at night, whether she was in bed with you or not, and just wishing they’ll initiate something. Imagine knowing you’ll be in love with her for the rest of your life, whether she feels the same someday or not, and having nothing to do about it. Imagine she took over every single thing you thought or did on a daily basis. Can you imagine that?”

“Yes, I can imagine that. I love her with all I-“

“Now imagine she got close with someone else. And soon they spent every moment together. Imagine you barely spoke to her in weeks, and out of nowhere when you have a conversation, it’s an argument. An argument that doesn’t get resolved, leaving more unbearable reticent weeks between you. Imagine laying awake in bed thinking what went wrong, but knowing it was your fault, and you can’t do anything about the pain that seemed to eat you alive. Imagine trying something to make it better, if not back to the way it was, but realizing it was too late. That she wasn’t even the same. And you failed. And Danielle never seemed so far away. But she’s happy. What would you do?”

“Niall, you got it all wrong. Zayn’s not with Perrie. They never were together! I know it seemed that way, but you have to believe me…” he continued, but I zoned him out. Why would Zayn go to so many efforts? I wasn’t going back! He was getting annoying. But I couldn’t be so annoyed that I didn’t think this was all flattering. He even sent Liam to talk to me. That’s cute. Zayn’s cute. No, Zayn’s perfect. Zayn’s everything to me. Yet I was leaving him. What a hypocrite. I groaned, slamming the pillow against my face again.

I then realized that Liam grew silent. I heard shuffling from where he was at and my door was open. “And you still won’t believe me? You’re unbelievable.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Well, I have one more thing to say. Imagine Zayn confessing he was in love with you after you’ve been in love with him for just as long. Imagine he was only saying this because he was leaving you, because he thought you were happy with someone else and it was hurting him. Imagine you realized it was your entire fault, and you tried to fix it, you tried everything you can. Imagine Zayn giving up on you, yet you don’t. You still do anything possible to get him back because you know you can’t do and won’t be anything without him. Imagine being broken beyond recognition, beyond anything you ever felt before, and nothing could fix you, help you, except Zayn. And imagine Zayn doing nothing to resolve this. Now you know how Zayn is.”

“Shut the door on your way out.”

I heard it close quietly. I was alone. And I’ve never felt so isolated. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream and thrash and scratch my skin away. I wanted to sleep and wake up a new person. Someone completely different surrounded by different faces and different places and different hobbies and different challenges. Anything, but this. This was too much. This was uncalled for. This bitter, awful feeling that now cocooned my whole body was going to kill me. Mentally, emotionally, or physically. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted sleep. So I closed my eyes, and counted till I drifted in a cold and barren slumber.

 

“I’m glad you could do this. Not sure if I was going to persuade you or not,” Louis lightly laughed from across me. I hummed in response. We were at the diner. Our diner. And my flight was scheduled for tomorrow morning. I was going to miss Louis. And Harry and Josh. And even Liam. Especially Zayn. I still haven’t talked to him. I was now regretting how I ended it with him. I wanted to at least go to Ireland knowing we were on talking terms. I was going to terribly miss him. And I was never going to forget him, much less stop loving him. How can I? He’s perfect. He’ll always be perfect. And no matter how cold I’ll be, he’ll always be my one and only sun. 

“How’s Josh?” I asked, still looking down at my mug of tea in front of me. I saw Louis shrug from my peripheral vision.

“S'okay. Hurt, but was expecting it. But that’s beside the point. How are you?”

“I’m broken, Lou. Broken beyond repair. Just broken. I never knew this pain could be so prominent and real. I just want me and Zayn to be the way we were.”

“I’m sure if you talk to him, it’ll happen.” I scoffed, trying to listen to the performance behind me instead. “Ni, listen to me. You know how I feel about Zayn. I cannot stand the fucker, yet I’d give anything to not see you like this. Even if it meant being with him.”

“Funny. I’d give anything to not be like this. But that’s beside the point. I’m going to miss you, Louis. You’ll always be my best friend.”

“Well, I better be. Not everyone can deal with your shit.”

“You were always there,” I said while laughing at his comment. I actually laughed. It seemed unfamiliar, but good. “Thank you for taking me out the house.” I smiled, genuinely smiled at him. He deserved it.

“Figured one more time wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?” he winked before looking behind me and smirking. “This place has its advantages.”

A pang of remembrance shot through me. ‘…has its advantages.’  I said that to Zayn, right before the last time we took a shower together. I groaned, shutting my eyes and inhaling the musky, earthy smell of the tea. Everything was going to remind me of him. 

Even now, the performer behind me held a deep, distinctive voice, similar to Zayn’s. He was reading poetry. What a coincidence. But as much as I tried to tone him out, I couldn’t. His words were powerful, hitting home. He spoke of found love that was soon lost. He spoke of the person who made him feel so great, yet so low. This person was everything to him. A jewel, apart from the rest. He was its own brand of love and joy from the others. His voice was desperate and his mouth sounded to be pressed against the microphone, displaying his emotions in a raw, cutting-edge way. It was so overwhelming. I hung my head, trying not to hear anymore, but failing at how the flow and rhythm of his words trapped me.

“Hey, he’s good. Look at him,” Louis said, still staring behind me. I couldn’t. I couldn’t calm my breathing. I couldn’t calm my heart rate. I just wanted my last day to be free from sudden emotion lapses. Why couldn’t I at least be granted with that? Why why why?

_“Niall, look at me, please!”_

_“What, Louis?”_ I shrieked, once again silencing the whole diner. Fuck my life. I looked at Louis with annoyance, but his face was calm with a smile that he tried to hide, and his mouth never even opened in the first place. He pointed behind me, towards the performer, and I turned around. To find Zayn the one with the microphone.

Zayn. Zayn was here. Speaking in front of so many people. Zayn, who failed drama because he couldn’t talk in front of the class. Zayn, who couldn’t order food ‘cause it involved talking to a stranger. Zayn, who spent summers locked in his room so he didn’t meet anyone new. That Zayn was on top of the platform, surrounded by strangers paying attention to his every word, with the one big spotlight shining on his sweaty face.

I’ve never been so surprised, and so content in my life. “Zayn,” I said, or whispered, or thought. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but him. He looked broken. Beyond broken. He looked worse than me, and that was a lot. He hadn’t shaved since I last saw him. The bags under his eyes were even more visible by the way the light etched every inch of his face. And his battered clothes held askew to his body. But never had I seen someone so beautiful. If I was to leave right now to Ireland, without another word or glance from him ever again, I might be okay with that because I seemed to drink him in, and I felt alive, like I was living.

I was standing up, fully facing him. And he was walking towards me. He grabbed the top of my arms harshly and shook me that my head snapped back then front to him. “WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME!? WHY DID YOU DO THAT, NIALL?! DID YOU HEAR ANYTHING I SAID THAT DAY?! I SAID I WAS SORRY. I BEGGED YOU NOT TO LEAVE ME. DID YOU EVEN STOP TO CONSIDER HOW THIS WOULD AFFECT ME?! GOD DAMMIT, NIALL!” He continued to vent, shaking me violently and crying. His whole face sheened with tears. Then he collapsed on me, sobbing into my shoulder, gripping me to the point I couldn’t move.

“You’re here,” was all I pathetically came up with. I was still shocked, still under the influence of hearing Zayn pour his love so beautifully, to then see him so torn and worn. His grip soon loosened and I was able to hug him, digging my nose into the fabric of his shirt. There was no cologne, but that personal scent that was only Zayn was evident, filling my senses. And then it hit me. He was here. Zayn was here. And I broke for what seemed like the millionth time. “Oh, Zayn. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” my voice shook and trembled in beat to my chest heaving sobs.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you I love you I fucking _love you_ _!_ ” He spoke after that, but I didn’t pay mind. Zayn was here. With me. For me. And that’s all that mattered.

 

We were seated in his--our--living room. I called Greg and canceled my flight. And he explained everything to me, looking me straight in the eyes and wording each sentence carefully, holding nothing back. Yes, Perrie and him were close. But no, they weren’t together. They never were. A couple of nights sleeping with each other here and there, but that’s it. They were friends in high school. He always drew and even back then, she was a poet.

Ironically, she was looking for an artist to draw the theme of her next work, which she was going to donate to charity. And Zayn and her miraculously met again. He offered his service if she in return, helped him write something for Niall. Zayn did admit that they got off track, sometimes being lazy and not being on task at all, but I was always on his mind, he said.

“When I found out you slept with Josh, I knew I should’ve cut the deal, but…I just didn’t. And when we argued,” he clasped his head in his hands, elbows on knees. “Niall, you have no idea how low and shitty I felt. And when you said you were leaving, I-“ he looked up at me and then his hands were on either side of my face. “You can’t leave me. I won’t allow it. I’m sorry. For everything. This is all my fault. I take every blame and criticism and blow you’ll give me, but don’t leave. Please.”

I pressed my hand against his mouth, soothing him to calm down, then brought my lips to his, not caring if he wasn’t thinking straight to kiss me back or not, but just taking in the sweet feeling of his lips. How beautiful and perfect and right they felt on mine.

And after bathing together and laying down, on his bed for once, we just faced each other. My face was pressed against his bare chest. He was so warm. The fact that this was how I was going to spend the rest of my life, next to my sun, my life, my everything, my Zayn, had me chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. Looking down at me as I looked up at him. His eyes were back to their melted gold, he allowed me to shave his face in the shower, and the bags were nothing a few days of sleep couldn’t fix. “I just love you, s’all,” I said, meaning every word with all the fibers that made me up. He kissed my forehead, murmuring he loved me against it, and settled there. “Remind me I have to call Louis tomorrow and tell him I found the song to cover.”

“What’s the song?”

“It’s from Christina Perri. It just feels right.”

And like a few great things, they last.


End file.
